When I woke up and she wasn’t beside me, I hoped she was in the shower. Or living room. Or kitchen. But I’ve thoroughly inspected every room and come up with nothing, save a little note written on the back of a takeout menu.

“Sure you did,” I say, holding the note in my hand as I pull a gallon of milk out of the refrigerator. I give it a quick smell test before drinking straight from the carton. “You left because you had things to do. Right.”

She left because she didn’t want to have to deal with the fact that she slept all night in my arms. That we were together three times from the time we got home from the restaurant until she snuck out of here sometime after six a.m. That she liked it.

If she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t have smiled in her sleep or slept right against me like a log. She wouldn’t have let me kiss her while she slept or snuck out this morning.

She’s lame. The girl does have a flaw after all.

Grinning, I spy the mail from yesterday and sort through it. A letter from Arrows’ management is included in the pile of bills and junk and I rip it open and scan the contents.

“Blah, blah blah,” I read aloud, my eyes searching for words that mean something. “We expect . . . blah, blah, blah . . . a final assessment on Tuesday, November 25th. We will meet with you about your contract after the Thanksgiving holiday.”

I test my shoulder, rolling it around and around. It feels better, stronger, but not strong enough to fire one from two hundred feet out. Not strong enough to ward off this sick feeling in my stomach.

“Damn it,” I say, mentally rolling through therapy dates and schedules. How much harder can I press it? Can I speed this up in any way? What if this doesn’t work? What if—

The buzzing of my phone interrupts my errant thoughts, and I scamper into the bedroom and pick it up hastily to see it’s Graham.

“Just the man I was wanting to talk to,” I say, heading back into the kitchen.

“Why does that concern me?”

“Because you’re smart, G. Super fucking smart.”

“Well, let me go first,” he sighs. “Ford called this morning. He’ll be officially out in a few weeks and home for good. He wants to put together a new branch of Landry Holdings. Details haven’t been hammered out yet, but it would basically involve security for individuals, companies, things like that.”

“Sounds smart,” I chime in, detouring into the living room. Picking up a baseball from a chair next to a bookcase, I toss it in the air. “Why do I need to know this?”

“Since we are all shareholders of Landry Holdings, we all get a vote whether to branch off. It’s a potential risk and, on the other hand, a potential reward, for all of us.”

Considering this for a half a second, I toss the ball back in the air. “I have no problems with it. Ford knows what he’s doing. I say let him have at it. He’s probably taken the least out of our inheritance out of us all. What does everyone else say?”

“Barrett’s in. I’m in. If you’re in, that’s majority. But I really don’t see Camilla against it, even though she’s acting a little odd these days.”

My interest is piqued. Nothing ever happens with Camilla. She’s as boring as a loaf of plain white bread. It’s not a bad thing—her predictability is something I count on. But if something is up with Miss Perfect, this I must hear.

“Sienna will be in,” I volunteer, speaking for the sister that could’ve been my twin spirit-wise. “But tell me more about Camilla. What’s going on?”

Graham blows out a hefty breath, his office chair squeaking in the background. “I’m really not sure. You know how she’s always around? Always available? Always completely put together like Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that stopped a couple of weeks ago. She’s not around as much, doesn’t return calls. I’ve left her one message about the security company and another about an event Mom is planning that I need her input on and nada. No call back, no quick text. Nothing.”

“She’s all right, right? I mean, you’ve seen her lately? She’s not kidnapped or some shit?”

My brother laughs. “She was at dinner on Sunday. She’s around. But, get this—our little sister was in sneakers.”

“Camilla?” I ask, my face contorting in confusion as I try to picture her slumming it. “Are you sure it wasn’t Sienna?” I laugh.

“It’s weird as shit,” Graham remarks. “But she’s a big girl. Maybe she’s decided she doesn’t want to be someone’s trophy wife after all.”

“Maybe,” I say, getting impatient. “My turn. This is actually a two-parter.”

“Great.”

“Don’t sound so excited.”

“Trust me, I’m reeling it in as hard as I can.”

“Asshole,” I mutter. “First thing is I got a letter from management. I go in for my final test on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. After that, we renegotiate.”

“All right . . .”

“All right . . . Can you please make me feel better about this?”

His laugh booms through the receiver. “You want me to coddle you? Sorry, Linc. I draw the line at giving you the warm and fuzzies.”

“I don’t want the warm and fuzzies,” I huff. “Just tell me pragmatically how this is going to end well.”

I roll my eyes at his sigh, feeling like a needy asshole. Finally, after a long enough pause that I really start to consider he might’ve hung up on me, he speaks.

“How’s therapy been going? How do you feel?” he asks.

“Good.”

“This is going to be fine. You’re an athlete so you know injuries happen. Management knows that too. Just keep rehabbing it and see what happens.”

“What if they don’t sign me?”

“There is a chance, as there always is, that you will move cities. You know that.”

My head hangs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“But you’re going to have a job. And, even if you don’t, you have me managing your money. You’re not going to have to worry about it.” He’s right, but that’s not the problem. It’s not that I’m afraid I won’t be able to eat or buy a house. It’s more like—what am I if I don’t play ball? I can’t announce. I don’t have a business or marketing degree.

I’ll just be another has been before age thirty and the biggest letdown to my family.

“Okay, enough of that,” I say, flopping on the sofa, shoving baseball out of my brain. “Next topic: I need a plan.”

“For post-baseball?”

“No,” I gulp. “Don’t laugh.”

“If it’s coming from your mouth, I reserve the right to laugh.”

This is going to be a tough one to live down, the fact that I, the best looking out of the family, is having a struggle getting the girl I want. If I tell G, he’ll tell Barrett and probably Ford, and then I’m fucked. Holidays at home will never be the same. Knowing I’m fucking up my reputation with Graham, I still need him.

“Fine,” I mutter. “I met this girl. The one I was telling you about the other day, remember?”

“Yeah,” he says, sounding entirely too amused for my own good.

“She doesn’t want to see me.”

Grimacing, I wait for the chuckle at my expense. It doesn’t take long before Graham is snickering on the other end. Tossing the baseball onto the sofa, I wait him out.

“Sorry. I thought I just heard you say she won’t see you,” he says finally.

“I did. I don’t mean it like she won’t see me at all, because I fucked her three times last night and she slept in my bed. But unlike most women that won’t leave the next day, she won’t stay.” My voice drifts off as my mind goes to more sinister places. “Is this what my life will be like if I don’t get resigned? Will I become a loser?”

“You’ll get resigned.”

“But if I don’t, is this what I can look forward to? Is this how you live?”

“Fuck off,” Graham snorts. “I’ll have you know I have no problem getting a woman. I’ve never called you for advice, have I?”

“That’s because you have a plan for fucking everything,” I laugh. “You give your own advice.”

“True. Now what kind of advice are you after with Miss I-Don’t-Want-You?”

“You don’t have to say it like that, asshole,” I buzz. “I need a plan to win her over. I think what I need to do is convince her I’m more than an athlete. She’s all anti-baseball-god. Weird, right?”

The line stills as my brother formulates his proposal. “Okay, so tell me about her. Besides her physical attributes, please.”

“So you think I was going to start with her banging body?”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, you’d be wrong. I was going to start with her smile.”

“Her smile?” Graham balks. “What the fuck have you done with my brother?”

“Funny,” I say, rolling my eyes. “She’s into kids. She coordinates events and shit at the hospital where I get therapy. That’s all I really know about her. That and she has a disdain for athletes, baseball specifically. She won’t open up to me much.”

Graham’s tongue clicks off the roof of his mouth as he dissects that information. His chair squeaks in the background again, the sound of something tapping distant.

My feet move, walking a circle on the navy blue wool rug on the floor. I watch the impressions my bare feet make into the runner, trying to find some rhythm in my steps.

“You’re a family guy. So if she likes kids, she’ll probably be drawn to that,” Graham says finally. “Is she close with her family?”

“No, actually. Her father is a cocksucker and her mother is pretty much a dick too, I think.”

“Even better.”

“G, there’s nothing good about that.”

“Okay, let’s do this.” He’s standing, I can hear it in the increased tempo of his voice. He has so many of Dad’s mannerisms and that’s one. “This is going to sound crazy . . .”

“We’re off to a good start,” I joke.

“Women love seeing a man with kids. Especially this one, I bet.”

“But she’s already seen me with kids. I’ve painted with them at the hospital. This is not new information.”

Graham laughs. “Do you trust me or not?”

“Go on.”

“Okay,” he says, warning me not to interrupt again. “We need to tweak your image, much like we had to do with Barrett during the election. We need her to see more to you than just a baseball player that wants to fuck her senseless.”

“Yes. I. Fucking. Do.”

“Here’s what you do.” He stops himself and snorts, mumbling under his breath, “I can’t believe I’m even suggesting this.”

“Suggest it,” I demand. “Use Huxley.”

“What?”

I’m sure I’m not hearing him right. Use my brother’s girlfriend’s kid? Is that even moral? I laugh out loud. Do I even care? No. No, I do not.

“Use Hux,” he repeats, obviously as amazed by his suggestion as I am. “Think about it. You can show her you’re a well-rounded guy, one that’s responsible and capable of solid relationships with those you care about. It’s different than the kids from the hospital because she could possibly think that’s an act. But if you have Huxley, that’s different. That’s a piece of who you are outside of anything she is. Get it?”

“Yeah. I get it,” I say, mulling this over.

“Barrett is on his way to Tennessee anyway, I think.”

The beauty of the plan glitters in front of me like a well-timed curveball. If you can just get a hold of it, you can hit a home run. And this particular home run might feel even better than hitting one out of the ballpark.

“Graham, you’re a genius.”

“Glad I could be of service. Just do me a favor, okay?”

“What’s that?” I mumble, already trying to figure out how to phrase this to Alison.

“Don’t tell Barrett this asinine idea was mine.”

I look at myself in the mirror and smile. “G, I gotta go.”